Ilya Stakhanov soon offered a sharp glance to the establishment at large, struck up from his evening's entertainment of scribbling away in his notebook by the comms piece in his ear. It was Kovodnik, no doubt, but what was he doing out here tonight? They had no patrol scheduled for tonight, damnit, he was here to enjoy himself away from the base... His cigarette dangled loosely from his lips, held merely by the traction provided by their dry surface, though soon he took it up in his left hand, sighing as he did.
He just hoped his cousin wouldn't show up.
"Solid copy," came the major's reply, waiting to close his booklet before continuing. "be warned, captain, there are several possible hostiles present in the establishment." Another sigh forced his breast to heave, the sky-blue booklet, embossed with the SPG insignia, forced into his breast pocket as he returned the cigarette to his mouth. Where the captain went, trouble followed, thus did the politruk draw his Borok revolver from its holster, popping its cylinder open to make sure that it was loaded.
As always, it was.
Sliding the bronzed cylinder back into place with a light click, Stakhanov glanced about the place again, his glare gracing several of the patrons' forms before coming to rest on his cap. Such a spartan cap it was, even if peaked bearing so little in the way of gaudy insignia. Such was how it should be, and such was as it was on his brow. Inaudible was the cocking of the weapon's hammer over the din of the place, the politruk leaned back in his seat as he awaited the captain to make his entrance.
"The Coalition?" He asked, curious as to the reason for their expedition.